


How the Grinch (AKA Crowley) stole Christmas

by DPS



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000)
Genre: AU- How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Guess who the Grinch is...., Holidays, Loneliness, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28078995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DPS/pseuds/DPS
Summary: Now, no one quite knew why the fearsome, lonely being lived on Mount Krumpet instead of the town. Of course, as with any oddity, there were assumptions and whispers:Some said that his shoes, while stylish, were too tight.Some claimed that his head wasn’t screwed on just right.But I think the most likely reason of all was that his heart was blackened and just a little too small.Of course, dear reader, we could leave our sorry tale there, but then we would be forgetting to tell the story of another. The one person who could change this Grinch forever.After all, this is a love story.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

High on Mount Krumpet, far away from the Whos down in Whoville, lived a solitary creature whose story remains largely misunderstood. 

Whoville was a cheerful place, full of music and whimsy. The people were kind and giving, and they loved to celebrate Christmas with one and all. And yet, there was one Who who did not belong in the jovial town; his dark demeanor and smirks were not befitting of a Who child, let alone an adult. The rumors spread like wildfire when he had slunk off to live within the mountain over fifteen years ago- and he’s loomed over Whoville like a gloomy specter ever since.

Now, no one _quite_ knew why the fearsome, lonely being lived on Mount Krumpet instead of the town. Of course, as with any oddity, there were assumptions and whispers.

Some said that his shoes, while stylish, were too tight.

Some claimed that his head wasn’t screwed on just right.

But I think the most likely reason of all was that his heart was blackened and just a little _too_ small.

As silly as that claim might be, the man-shaped being did little to dissuade the rumors. His presence left discomfort and uncertainness in its wake for all who had the misfortune to encounter him.

They called him the Grinch: a cruel term for a person who is mean-spirited and unfriendly. He adopted his epithet with pride and demanded its use whenever a Who was nearby. 

The Grinch's story had some missing pieces and the puzzle (while puzzling) was unfinished. How had the man, who looked so unlike the Whos, come to live in Whoville? Why was he so unsociable? Was he even a Who? 

Let me tell you the tale of the small, unwanted Grinch to fill in (some) of the missing pieces.

* * *

One stormy night, as these tales often start, he was delivered- as all Whos will tell- to the doorstep of the orphanage in a small basket.

It was odd because most Who children were delivered on calm nights, drifting from the sky in their Who-labeled ‘pumbersellas.’ Perhaps the wind roared too wildly that night and a strangeness lingered in the air, or perhaps someone above was gambling with the fates of mortals because the thin, pale creature drifted far from his intended landing place far away and landed in Whoville outside of the orphanage.

The small set of buildings were largely unoccupied because Who children with unknown guardians were swiftly adopted, as cheerful and sweet as they all were with their little Who noses, sweet Who temperaments, and booming giggles.

This was not the case for the Grinch; he was so quiet that the poor dear was left out in the cold until morning when he was found by the resident nuns.

They bundled him up, cooed at the poor thing, and counted his "toesie-woesies" until he awoke, but the sight of his eyes made the nuns gape nervously at one another, swiftly setting the child down in the cradle.

This was no normal Who baby.

His eyes were the oddest feature about the child- they were a bright, golden yellow with narrowed pupils. They stared with a frightening intensity, and the nuns saw only strangeness. From then on, the young child was named the generic “Who” and scrutinized from a distance.

For all the caregivers at the Whoville Orphanage, he was a difficult child to care for due to his odd, gangly limbs, missing Who-nose, and unsightly eye deformity. There was nothing sweet or cheerful about this child- his eyes solemn and his cries meek.

The adopted Who learned quickly that crying would not bring comfort. The nuns- fearful of his appearance- ignored him if they could, giving him food and shelter and not a scrap of comfort beyond the necessities to survive. His room held only a cot and a blanket, his meals were delivered to his room, and his only solace was the view of the mountain outside of his window.

Deep in his heart, in the silence that only loneliness can bring, he would wish for a friend- someone to care for, and who would care for him in turn. But as he grew, he learned the harsh reality of being different in a small, narrow-minded world that valued sameness.

In school, his teachers demanded obedience from the small child who had boundless energy for mischief and the eyes of a snake. _Sit down, Mr. Who. Stand up, now, child. Where is your homework?_ But the young Who, desperate to understand this strange world around him, spent his time lighting small fires, cutting up his assignments to make artwork, and staying outside to play long past recess to climb trees.

Quickly, he earned a reputation among the adult Whos for being difficult; but he knew he wanted someone, anyone to see him and pay attention, even if it was for his mischief. Some scraps of attention are better than the silence of lonely forgottenness, surely?

One December morning in arithmetic, the child caused a small riot when he innocently asked, “but Miss, why do the Whos love Christmas so much? Why is it special?” 

Silence. Deafening silence and then...

“Mr. Who, to the office at once!” And so away he slunk, biting back tears as his classmates snickered behind his back. _There goes the freak… Look at his nose, what a joke... Of course, he hates Christmas, he's such a Grinch!_

Even when he was trying to behave, he would find himself in trouble: “Young Mr. Who,” his teachers and the nuns at the orphanage would demean, staring down at him and pointing out his faults with their judgemental gazes and disapproving head shakes, “what are you doing _now_?”

So instead of continuing to fight for attention and acceptance, he grew silent, sullen, and as what happens with most children who are unwanted, he grew resentful towards the world.

He stopped climbing trees, he ignored his classmates, and, finally, he stopped wishing for a friend. 

While this unwanted child was angry towards many, many things, the thing he hated above all was Christmas. A time for loved ones, singing and presents meant nothing to the small Who child, and he seethed at every Christmas song, every Christmas feast, and every smiling Who child who received a gift from Santa Clause.

Only good, loved Who children received a gift from Santa. There were no presents for the lonely child; and so, the child would sit. And sleep. And wake. Nothing ever changed, and no presents arrived for the outcast. 

Until finally, after more years than can be remembered, the nuns went into his room to find his little cot empty with none of his meager belongings left behind. He was seen by some of the Whos climbing Mount Krumpet just a few days after Christmas, carrying a small backpack and a green scarf around his neck.

The Whos observing this odd behavior simply shook their heads and continued on their merry way- good riddance. 

* * *

So. There is the tale of the sad little Who- the creature who was not much like a Who at all. He has lived on Mount Krumpet ever since, only venturing down into Whoville sporadically to acquire food and supplies. Otherwise, he was a scary-story used to frighten children into eating their vegetables. His name, which he viciously sneered at anyone who tried to address him, was the Grinch.

“I am the _Grinch_ ,” he barked at Sister Mary Loquacious when she had the audacity to offer him some cookies outside of the supermarket, “You know the risk you’re taking by calling me anything else!” She shivered, looking at him with disgust and fear in her eyes, and darted away, leaving the Grinch alone.

He angrily stuffed his cans of Who-hash into his backpack, whistled to call his dog, Bentley, and trudged away with a barbarous, "I hate you, Whos!" 

Of course, dear reader, we could leave our sorry tale there, but then we would be forgetting to tell the story of another. The one person who could change this Grinch forever.

After all, this is a love story.


	2. Chapter 2

Around the same time that the Grinch began building his ~~home~~ _lair_ on Mount Krumpet shortly after leaving the orphanage as a gangly pre-teen, a young, pleasantly round child with sparkling blue eyes was about to experience his first day of school.

His mother had filled his bookbag with his favorite chapter books and snacks. He was so excited to meet his teacher and _read._

And eat his snacks, of course.

“I’m going to read all about the adventures of the knights of the round table,” He squeaked excitedly to his mother as she tried (valiantly) to wrestle him into his school uniform. He had stayed up all night the previous evening, wishing for a wonderful day at school and a friend to read aloud to.

The boy’s mother chuckled fondly and rustled the white-blonde curls atop his head, “I’m sure you will, my angel. Remember, you need to focus on all your studies. Not just reading.”

“Yeah, yeah, mom, alright,” the boy placated absently, already busy fantasizing about all the chapter books that his teacher probably had in the classroom. And, he hoped, he would be able to make a friend too.

It was going to be a great day!

* * *

It was not, in fact, great.

Aziraphale, the boy who loved to read, sat curled up in his mother’s lap as he cried.

“And my teacher said I shouldn’t even be able to read yet! Can you believe that! And I got in so much trouble for reading during arithmetic and, oh mom, please don’t make me go back!” His choking sobs ripped through his small body as he clung to his mother’s shirt and breathed in and out.

“Shh, shh my angel,” she hummed, rocking him gently and running a hand through his hair, “I’m sure that you will be reading with the class in no time.”

Aziraphale’s head sprung up, betrayal in his eyes, “but then we will be reading _picture books_ ,” he spat as if the very concept offended him, and his mother could barely keep her smile contained at seeing her little reader pout so viciously at the concept of picture books.

She took a breath to center herself and said: “well then, you’ll just have to be patient and, in the meantime, read your chapter books at home with me.”

Aziraphale sighed, one crisis averted for how, and nodded his head. He was always well behaved, and he knew that his mother was doing the best that she could- working overtime near the holidays to provide for him and their little family of two.

“Alright mama, I like reading with you better anyways,” He wiggled off of her lap in search of his knight action figures and played under the watchful gaze of his mother.

* * *

When Aziraphale was ten was the first time he heard whispers of the Grinch, about the infamous Who who was not actually a Who. Apparently, the Grinch used to go to his school and he was only about six years older than Aziraphale.

One of the upper-classmen boys was talking about the Grinch loudly in the hallway between lessons. Gabriel, on his way to becoming head-boy and cognizant of that fact, was pompous and entitled and Aziraphale loathed him.

Not that he would ever admit it aloud, of course. That would be rude and very not Who-ish of him! Still, Gabriel was affable, and people liked him. Not many people liked Aziraphale.

“The Grinch was such a baby,” Gabriel informed his sycophants in the hallway, leaning against the cubbies to seem suave, “always going on and on about ‘Why do the Whos care so much about Christmas?’ Like, honestly!” He barked out a laugh, and the others laughed along, “Christmas is what makes a Who who they are, not that he would know, the _freak_.”

While the others laughed along, adding cruel remarks about the Grinch, Aziraphale felt a pang deep in his belly at the mention of the Grinch being a “freak” and not a real Who. It felt… wrong.

“Excuse me, Gabriel, why are you calling the Grinch a freak?” Aziraphale asked quietly, but the large mass of students who had gathered around Gabriel froze and turned on the young, innocent Who child with expressions of confusion marring their faces.

Gabriel plastered a wide grin upon his conventionally handsome face and replied, “because, sunshine, that’s what he is. A freak who doesn’t belong- he doesn’t like Christmas; he doesn’t even have his Who-nose. He is nobody,” he shrugged, taking a bite out of an apple and pretending he didn’t hear the adoring _“ahh”_ of the girls who fancied him.

He continued, ignoring Aziraphale’s incredulous expression, “when I’m the mayor of Whoville, we won’t see the likes of the Grinch around here ever again!” At this, the students cheered loudly enough that a teacher broke up the impromptu meeting and the students wandered to their next classes. Gabriel winked at Aziraphale on his way and left the boy standing in the hall, wondering about the Grinch.

Who was this mysterious person?

* * *

“Mom, who is the Grinch?” Aziraphale asked over dinner that night, heaping some Who-Pudding onto his plate.

He looked up after a beat of silence to see his mother staring at him, her lips in a flat line across her face. She rarely looked so serious, and Aziraphale put down his fork to wait for an answer, trying not to appear too interested.

“The Grinch was-is-a troubled young man,” she stammered, finding her voice and taking a gulp of eggnog in order to continue, “he was raised in the orphanage until around your age when he left one night. Now he lives on Mount Krumpet and he ventures down a handful of times a year to gather supplies….” She trailed off. Aziraphale leaned forward, eager for more information about this man _(boy? Isn’t he around my age?)_ and his mother sighed at seeing the familiar spark of curiosity in her son's eyes.

“He’s troubled, Aziraphale,” she finished, looking grave indeed, “and I don’t think even someone as loving as you, my angel, could help him. I’m asking you, for my sake, please put this dangerous man out of your head.”

Her eyes, wide with pleading, forced a nod from somewhere deep within Aziraphale. He didn’t want to be disobedient, and his mother asked for so little from him.

So Aziraphale put the Grinch out of his mind and focused on his education and his books, his love of reading only growing as the years passed. While he always struggled a bit in mathematics, he earned the literature award every year during secondary school and decided to open a bookshop shortly after graduation.

Between his mother’s savings and the small amount of money he had accumulated tutoring other Who children during his teenage years, Aziraphale was able to lease a small, beautiful abandoned bookstore right on the Northern corner of Whoville. It was a bit worn down, and it needed a fresh coat of paint and some dusting, but it was his. It had bookshelves lining the walls for him to fill with his collection, and he was looking forward to venturing forth on a new adventure.

At only twenty, he was a business owner and he was going to make his mother proud. 

He rolled up his shirtsleeves and started unpacking the mounds of boxes filled to the brim with stories. While Azirpahle owned books about food, travel, Christmas, and history, his favorite and most prized possessions were his adventure novels.

Secretly, in the confines of his mind, he also appreciated that his bookshop boasted a magnificent view of Mount Krumpet to satisfy his musings about the mysterious man that lived there.

Despite the many years since Aziraphale heard about the Grinch, he had never seen him in person. The rumors that he heard fueled his overactive imagination. This Grinch, this man who had become a legend in Aziraphle's mind, was as beloved as one of the fictionalized characters in his stories.

He was intrigued against his will and against his mother’s advice all those years ago- _I’m asking you, for my sake, please put this dangerous man out of your head._ Each night, without fail, Aziraphale would sit in the small flat above his bookshop with his tea clutched in his hands and think about the Grinch, about what he was seeing when he looked down at Whoville, about how the Grinch probably just needed a friend.

And about how Aziraphale needed one too.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m telling you, Bentley, I don’t know why I ever leave this place,” the twenty-six-year-old muttered to the dog that was busy ignoring him entirely while chasing his tail. The Grinch was pacing around the first floor of his home on Mount Krumpet with a scowl marring his expression.

Headless of his dog’s antics, he continues, “I have everything I need here. So what if I’m on my own? I don’t need those Whos.” The word _freak_ rattled around his mind like a bad dream of a time almost forgotten.

Looking around his home ( _lair_ , calling it a lair was much cooler), this rounded room with high stone ceilings and a loft space, the Grinch felt the familiar sensation of isolation settle around his thin shoulders.

He shook the melancholy thoughts away with a huff.

In the years since the Grinch left his old life behind and adopted his cruel childhood nickname as his moniker, he had accomplished a great deal; because the Whoville sanitation center and rubbish heap were nearby, the Grinch had been able to turn the spacious cave he discovered as a gangly 11-year-old into a comfortable home with electricity, heat, and clever contraptions of his own creation by stealing away to the station that was covered with discarded items the Whos had thrown away.

The Grinch felt very much at home in such a place. 

Ever since he first time held an old, worn welding tool that he’d found, he knew that his destructive tendencies from childhood made sense. His intense interest in how the world around him functioned allowed him to become a craftsman and create the safe haven he needed from the cruel world below.

The Grinch continued to build, adapt, and add brilliant feats of building and engineering to his lair over the years, until it barely resembled a cave at all-the rock encrusted room which had once been barren was covered with bright tapestries along the walls to encompass warmth. An enormous, round window sat in the loft space where the Grinch could walk up his winding, stone staircase to observe the Whos.

The loft was where his bed was situated, facing the circular window that shown with the lights of Whoville so far below and provided natural sunlight during the day. The entire cave was covered in hardwood floors and workbenches that gleamed from the Grinch’s frequent maniac cleaning episodes.

When he was still young and new to welding, the Grinch turned some metal rods into a bedframe and set an old, well-worn mattress atop, adding sheets and bedding as he found them in the dust heap (and after giving them all a vigorous wash). He sanded and hammered together some old, mismatched wood to make cupboards in the kitchen to hold his Who-hash and other groceries. The Grinch was even able to draw power from the sanitation center and water from the water lines that ran shallowly beneath the mountain. His small bathroom off of the kitchen had a water-heater system that he created, and he took long, contemplative showers often. 

There wasn’t much else to do, after all.

The layout was that of a spacious one-room cottage, with indoor plant life that flourished in the winter. The devil’s ivy climbed up the wall and cast the space in a beautiful hue of green when the sun shone in, and the snake plant flourished in the large pot in the corner. His jade plant, known for adoring the winter months, also flourished. The plants grew all around the space and were well tended to by the strange being who lived there- he screamed at them to “do better” and they did. 

The hearth sent flames and smoke roaring up and out of the small, crooked chimney. The Grinch had engineered the fire to never extinguish, the gas fireplace he had created allowing the heat from the fireplace to encompass the space with warmth all year round. After spending half a winter when he was eleven freezing in the cave without a sustainable heat source, the fireplace was one of the first projects the Grinch undertook. One of the only indications to the Whos that the Grinch was alive and well was the steam and fog rising from his cavernous home on the mountain.

For about ten years the Grinch focused on building his home within the cave he had stumbled across as a freezing adolescent, but something was missing.

After running into Whoville to stock up on groceries, he saw him. The small creature was almost entirely covered in snow, and the Grinch couldn’t make out what it was at first, but then he saw it, a tail, two floppy ears. It was a dog, a puppy to be exact. The small pup was shivering in the cold, tied outside of some Who’s home in the middle of January.

 _Well, this simply won’t do_ , the Grinch thought, banishing memories of another unwanted creature left alone from his mind, and he untied the pup from the iron post to set him free.

“Off you trot, be free,” he mumbled to the creature, and the grumpy young man turned around to continue on his way.

But the small dog, grateful to his liberator, followed the Grinch all the way home, ignoring his huffing and puffing about, “another mouth to feed” and “go away, you mutt!” He yapped and trod along in the snow, the frozen slush sticking to his whiskers.

Once back at the entrance to his lair, the Grinch whipped around to glare down at the small dog, whose tail was still wagging happily at his new master. The Grinch stared for a moment longer before his expression softened considerably. He rolled his eyes and threw his arms up with a sigh of reluctant acceptance, ignoring the faint beat of his heart when looking into the large, puppy eyes.

From then on, Bentley was his dearest friend and companion (not that the fearsome Grinch would ever admit it).

The two played chess together (although the Grinch had to cheat in order to win, which was a little demoralizing), and Bentley provided a sounding board for the Grinch's emotions. He could rant and rave at the dog, and Bentley would stay. Bentley never left, and his pet was always a constant in his life, but the Grinch wished that he could speak back. 

He missed human interaction that didn't end with him screaming obscenities out of his own fear and rage. 

It had been over a year since the Grinch had met his new canine companion, and while Bentley brought him comfort that he had never received from another being, the Grinch stewed and thought and puzzled until his puzzler was sore.

_Should I stay here, away from the Whos?_

With a shake of his head to clear his wandering thoughts, the Grinch paced up the stairs.

 _Yes,_ the Grinch thought, pausing and glancing out the window, the twinkling lights from Whoville seeming farther away than ever before, _it is better this way_.

* * *

Aziraphale was bundling himself up in his warmest, coziest winter gear (in his favorite tartan, of course). He was going for a walk.

Gabriel, Whoville’s mayor (the youngest of all time, as he was known to boast), announced that very morning in the city center that Whobilation would be celebrated in just two days’ time!

“And it will be a Whobilation to remember! More Christmas cheer to go around than we have ever seen! And whoever is crowned Holiday Cheermeister” - a pointed chuckle sounded from the microphone- “will be a lucky man, or woman, indeed!”

An uproar started in excitement as the Whos began chattering away about what puddings they would present and what Christmas-themed outfits they would don for the celebration. Even Aziraphale, a normally reserved Who, felt his own stirrings of excitement as he saw his neighbors planning a cheerful celebration before Christmas because while Whos appreciated other holiday seasons, it was beyond doubt that Christmas was the one holiday that every Who loved most.

Just then, a poor shop employee from Farfingle’s Candles timidly announced a celebratory half-off sale for one hour only and was almost trampled in the mad dash the Whos made into the already overcrowded store. It seemed the momentary distraction of the parade was over, and the Whos went back to their commercialized Christmas fixation.

Snoozle phones were selling out by the minute at the electronics store, and the Jingtinklers and Tartookas could be heard playing their music from down the street. All around, people were busy shoving other Whos out of the way to snag the best gift, at the best price, and Aziraphale felt his anxiety rising just observing the chaos in front of him with a feeling of unease in his heart.

As the Whos were busy scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping and wrapping, Aziraphale thought, _Is this what Christmas is really about?_

It should be noted, dear reader, that Aziraphale knew that Christmas-spirit was an expected personality trait in any Who, but the young bookseller would admit (if only in the confines of his mind) that his spirits had dampened over the years as he watched how materialistic the season had become.

 _I understand now why the Grinch asked all those questions about Christmas,_ Aziraphale thought while wandering back to his bookshop.

“Oh, Aziraphale,” he heard and he turned to see Madame Tracy jogging towards him with a bright pink boa wrapped around her festive red coat, her bleach-blonde hair covered in little ornaments.

He smiled at seeing his friend in her getup and reminded himself to get a palm reading from her soon. He greeted her with a cheerful, “Hello, dear.” They exchanged pleasantries and she began walking with him back to the bookshop, patting Aziraphale's arm as he bemoaned.

“Tracy, I know that it’s Christmas,” Aziraphale vented, “but don’t you think this is all a bit much?” He asked, gesturing around them with his eyes wide with disbelief at the disarray surrounding them. 

Madame Tracy looked lost in thought for a moment before shrugging, “it hadn’t occurred, luv. The season is what it is, don’t you enjoy it? I saw that you put some Christmas novels at the front of your shop, and you even decorated the outside with fairy lights. Very festive.”

Aziraphale didn’t know what to do say- he had decorated and displayed his Christmas books, but it was more to stem off any further comments about how he was, well…

“Do you think I’m odd?” He asked in a rush, stopping and turning towards her to watch her expression. Her face softened and she took one of his manicured hands into her own.

“No, luv, I just think that you’re a little… different. But different is not bad! You're just as much of a Who as the rest of us. Some Whos- like Gabriel- are more popular than others, but that's normal,” She finished quickly as she watched his face fall, and his eyebrows tighten.

She tutted sympathetically, “Don’t you think it’s time you let me set you up? You’re too young to be alone, poppet. Now, there’s a lovely young man who lives for on Whimsy Lane and he is just a treat, I can tell you-” Aziraphale stopped listening as Madame Tracy babbled on about a potential match for him and let his mind wander.

 _Of course,_ he was different, he would rather read than attend a loud, overbearing Christmas party, he preferred hot cocoa to eggnog, and he couldn’t sing a Christmas Carol without his audience flinching at his voice.

All in all, Aziraphale was… odd.

Once they were outside of the bookshop once more, Aziraphale waved a distracted goodbye to Madame Tracy as she bustled off to do some “last-minute Christmas light shopping, you know how competitive my neighbor, Ms. Whoovie can be!”

He stood in his empty bookshop, staring at the Christmas books on display, and thought about Christmas.

 _What would make Christmas bearable?_ Aziraphale thought. _Not gifts, or figgy-pudding, or even the same old parties. Something different, something…_

And then a thought occurred to Aziraphale, a dangerous, ill-conceived, and deep-rooted thought.

_What if… What if Christmas this year was for everyone? Not just the popular Whos, like Gabriel, but those of us that are odd?_

For that, he would need some backup before the Whobilation. Hmm. Tracy would support him, even Anathema and Newt, the friendly couple next door that ran the teashop would probably support him at the event, but he needed something more. Something shocking. Something to turn everyone's focus from material gifts to refocus on one another. 

Something to prove that Christmas is about more than gifts and food- it’s about bringing people together, no matter the background.

A plan began to bloom- slowly at first, and then more quickly. Aziraphale started bouncing on his toes in excitement, yes, yes of course! It was perfect. 

So, Aziraphale was planning to go on a walk.

Yes, that was it, he was going on a walk. He had packed a little bit of food and a thermos of cocoa in a small satchel and he was going to take a stroll in the December twilight. He wiggled his nose in determination and nodded his head once before setting off, venturing into the frigid December weather. 

And if he set his course North, towards the mountain, it was for no particular reason. That is what he told himself as he fixed his fluffy earmuffs around his blonde curls and continued to walk. 

No reason at all.

Grinch’s home:

: <https://images.app.goo.gl/bZtSEfmcBJRL6kPZ7>


	4. Chapter 4

Up, up, up the mountain Aziraphale walked at a sedate pace, rubbing his hands together and enjoying the sensation of his wool gloves. He had always been at peace when spending extended time alone and walking up the mountain searching for the Grinch was no different.

Truthfully, Aziraphale was very comfortable in his own mind and company.

The night air was biting, however, and darkness was gathering fast as the stars began to shine. Aziraphale trudged on, continuing up the mountain and trying to remain focused on his goal.

He could admit to himself, now that he was almost there, that Aziraphale was going on a particular adventure to find another outcast, much like himself.

He was going to find and talk to the Grinch.

Anticipation carried him forward, the promise of meeting the elusive man beating in his heart. He knew, he just knew, that this could be the beginning of a new and much-improved version of Christmas in Whoville.

The commercialization of Christmas was rampant, but the true meaning of Christmas- that Aziraphale believed- was that Christmas was about _much_ more than the presents.

At least, he hoped that it was. 

Before too much time had passed, a small, crooked doorway covering the entrance to a cave entered his line of sight among the swaths of pine trees and snow.

“Just knock,” he whispered. Still, he hesitated. What right did he have to interrupt this man, this person who had sequestered himself away for all those years? He was not known to keep any company, and here Aziraphale was, ready to interrupt his peace.

He almost turned back to leave the way he had come. Almost.

In a rush of impulsivity, a spark of courage that influences so many to make small choices, the Who rushed forward and knocked.

* * *

Deep within the recesses of his home, the Grinch sat by the fire and stared into the abyss before him, thinking about Christmas down in Whoville.

A dreadful time, full of loneliness and hateful noise. Oh, the noise!

He would be much happier away from the fray, as he always was- all alone.

A knock echoed around the warmly lit living space, and the Grinch started at the sound.

What- or rather, Who would _dare_ to call on the Grinch? He looked at the clock on the wall, it read almost ten o'clock in the evening. The audacity of those Whos!

He’d never had a visitor! His outgoing voicemail hardly encouraged visitations: “I should hunt you down and destroy you like one of my plants with leaf spots…. Leave a message, if you dare!”

With his ire growing he sprang up, marching to the door. His long legs allowed for a handful of long, powerful strides and then he was at the entrance to his home and a hair's breadth from a would-be intruder. The Grinch grasped the door handle, sucking in a great breath to prepare for his coming tirade, and swung open the door-

-to find the most adorable, _soft-looking_ Who he had ever seen staring back at him, his blue eyes wide with fear and… was that hope written in his expression?

The Grinch’s breath left him in a hiss as he was rendered momentarily silenced by the Who in front of him who was quickly lowering his hand.

He was shorter than the Grinch and a plump Who, bundled in a horrendous tartan scarf and warm looking coat the protect himself from the harsh weather on Mount Krumpet. The light from inside his home illuminated the shorter Who and he fairly sparkled in the dim firelight that reached the doorway. His blonde curls were almost white, and his eyes were out of this world, a startling shade of blue. His lips were full, and his forehead was creased from his current state of worry- finally his nose, oh his nose, was sweet, upturned, and blushed pink from the cold. The Grinch found his thoughts wandering to dangerous territory and he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts away from the angelic-looking man before him.

Then, the Grinch realized the Who was talking. Well, stammering.

“-and I’m so terribly sorry to have disturbed you, oh bother, I really have made a mess of things,” the soft Who rambled on, oblivious to the gawking that the cave-dweller was currently engaged in.

The Grinch, meanwhile, feels his brain spinning with possibilities. What should he do? Scare the man off?

Yes, let’s try that, the man looks soft enough as it is.

“Hushhhhh,” he hissed, and the man shut up immediately, meeting his eye line and his mouth forming a small pout.

Oh, good Lord. His lips…

The Grinch shook himself free of his intrusive thoughts and bellowed, “What are you doing tresspassssing on my property! Don’t you know who I am?”

The Grinch’s voice continued rising steadily as his indignation grew. It dawned on him that this man knocking on his door, late at night, shortly before Christmas. The soft Who obviously wanted something, perhaps a warm place to stay or the clout of having visited the fearsome Grinch. Damn, these Whos!

Even the sweet-tempered looking ones.

The Who’s pout grew, but the Who in front of his didn’t look cowed; rather, he just looked let down, his brow furrowing and his head drooping down as the Grinch continued-

“Why won’t you Who’s just _leave me alone_ ,” He finished, breathing heavily and his heart pounding faster and faster- thump, thump, thump.

The Who glanced up at him from where his eyes were lowered. The Grinch’s yelling has silenced his original boisterous talking, and he looked guilty, his foot nudging the snow.

“I-I just,” he sighed, his voice lowering to a whisper, “I don’t think that anyone should be alone near Christmas.”

The Grinch felt his chest tightening at those words, the remainder of his loneliness brought up and shoved in his face. He staggered backward into his home, shocked, but before he could close the door and leave this odd and hateful conversation behind, the Who rushed forward and inside- _inside_ of his home- with a muttered ‘thank you, my dear’ for the Grinch’s trouble.

Honestly, the Who didn’t seem frightened of him at all! Oh, blast it.

Before he could mutter one more word, the Who found his voice again and quickly said, “Oh, silly me, I haven’t introduced myself. How rude,” he chuckled self-deprecatingly, “my name is Aziraphale.”

 _So, he really is an angel_ , the Grinch thought, saying nothing and staring at the man before him, the man who was somehow in his home.

Aziraphale, the angelic Who (the trespasser, more like) was staring at him expectantly.

Oh. Oh, he was waiting for an introduction. Even though he knew his name, or what he was known by, he wanted to give the reclusive man a chance to introduce himself on his own terms.

Ignoring the fluttering in his stomach at the realization, the Grinch thought.

He had been thinking about his name, his moniker, for years and… Well, it suited his image in Whoville, but he had another name he might like this odd man to know.

To call him by.

So, the Grinch thought, and thought, and thought once more before he said, “My… My name is Crowley. But you can call me the Grinch, if that’s- well, it’s your choice, see if I care,” he finished with a derisive sniff, his mind swirling out of control.

What did he care if it was easier for some god-forsaken Who to-

“It’s lovely to make your acquaintance, Crowley,” Aziraphale said softly, smiling at him with approval shining in his eyes and the quirk of his mouth. 

Well then.

“One more time, what do you want?” The Grin- Crowley sighed, strutting forward and slumping in his chair, not bothering to offer a seat to Aziraphale in front of the fire. The quicker this interaction was over with, the better.

Ignoring the lack of welcome entirely, Aziraphale unwound the scarf from his neck and set down his backpack on the plush rug in front of the fire. Then, he gracefully folded himself down in front of the fire and, subsequently, in front of Crowley. Crowley gulped, nervous at the sight of this beautiful man comfortably lounging at his feet, in front of his fire, and watched as the angel- Aziraphale- took out a thermos and poured two cups of…

“Is that cocoa?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale nodded with a bright, toothy smile at him before thrusting a small plastic cup into his hands. The smell of chocolate wafted into the room and between the smell of chocolate and the crackling warmth from the fire, as well as the beautiful man in front of him, the Grinch started to believe he was in a rather pleasant dream.

Impossible, though, as he’d never had a happy dream before.

“I do want to apologize once more,” Aziraphale said, his voice as soft as the rest of him, “I should not have intruded on you unannounced. There was no time to waste and by the time I had made up my mind to come, well, I was at your doorstep.” He shrugged and took a sip of his hot chocolate, seemingly content with the yellow eyes watching his every movement.

“Come here to gloat, have you?” The Grinch sneered, forcing himself to remain a little hostile towards this strange Who, but the heartbroken expression the plump man adopted from his sharp words made him regret his callous tone.

“No, of course not. I’ve actually come because I have a proposition for you. An arrangement, if you will,” Aziraphale said, adopting a firmer tone and looking steadily into Crowley’s eyes as a challenge. He continued, “I would like you to attend the Whobilation with me in three days’ time to celebrate Christmas and help remind all of Whoville what Christmas is about.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale before bursting out in a harsh laugh, his chuckles were a bit untried as he rarely found himself amused. Aziraphale frowned and opened his mouth to speak again before Crowley interrupted him.

“And why, my naïve angel, would I do such a thing? What do I get in return?” He asked with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, thinking with disdain about the people in Whoville who dismissed, belittled, bullied, or ignored him during his unhappy youth.

Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth a few times, before huffing and taking a sip of cocoa, turning his head to stare into the fire.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet as a mouse, “all people care about is what they can get out of Christmas. The presents, the food, all of it is selfish. I just- I want Christmas to mean more than that,” Aziraphale sighed, turning back to look at Crowley with his baleful eyes.

Before Crowley could respond, he heard the familiar pattering of paws on the stairs leading down to the living room. Aziraphale, hearing the same noise, looked towards the source and gasped with delight at seeing the small dog headed their way.

“Oh, you have a pet!” He cooed at Bentley and the dog, being weak to the attentions of Who and Grinch alike, went towards Aziraphale and allowed himself to be petted and doted on.

“Aren’t you a good boy, yes you are!” Bentley hopped onto Aziraphle's lap and licked the Who's face excitedly, happy to have made a new friend. 

Crowley watched on, flabbergasted that Aziraphale had, within the last twenty minutes, entered his ~~home~~ lair, doted on his dog, and given him a childish drink all while asking him to engage in the Christmas season which he loathed.

And all of that was done with a smile on his face.

“So, what do you think? Will you come?” Aziraphale asked again, shifting his attention back to Crowley who was lounging back in his throne-like chair before the fire, his expression pinched.

Suddenly, the Grinch had an idea. A brilliant, fantastic, devious idea!

He would _tell_ Aziraphale he would attend the Whobilation-nonsense in three days’ time, but only if Aziraphale stayed with him to help him re-engage with Christmas traditions and all that nonsense.

Then, he would ruin the Whobilation for the Whos down in Whoville and show them that they should leave him alone and never, ever, trespass again!

It was perfect!

His plan in place, he informed Aziraphale of his conditions. The Who clapped his manicured hands together in excitement and smiled at Crowley as if he had given him the best Christmas present in the world.

And if Crowley felt the fledglings of regret for his deceit in his heart, well, Aziraphale didn’t have to know that.

So, an arrangement was struck.

“You can sleep down here, I’ll see you in the morning to begin preparing for the Holiday Cheer-whatever,” Crowley sniffed derisively, but Aziraphale simply nodded and gazed up at him with approval shining in his cerulean eyes. Then the Who closed his eyes and began to drift to sleep, heedless of the danger he was in with the strange, reclusive Grinch before him.

And if the Grinch spread a soft blanket around the sleeping Who’s curled up form, well, no one could prove it was him.


End file.
